


(Winter) Screwed

by hapakitsune



Series: Winter at Samwell [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Dancing, First Kiss, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter Screw is, once again, kind of a disappointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Winter) Screwed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bropunzeling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/gifts).



> Bitty's ~~dumb~~ Twitter kept jossing all my ~~delightful~~ absurd Winter Screw ideas/theories so I was like BETTER WRITE THAT WINTER SCREW FIC BEFORE IT GETS MORE JOSSED so here is a thing and I'm going to make it Jess's birthday present because she is a good bro. also don't get on me about the end I swear to Bitty's pies that I'm writing more of this series.

Eric had not intended on going to Screw. He had not stated that intention in front of anyone, aside from his Twitter followers, but he had thought, perhaps, that Ransom and Holster might have remembered the Puke Incident of the year before and taken mercy on him. 

He misses that Eric. That Eric was young and naïve. 

“I _promise_ ,” Holster says with a smile that leaves Eric distinctly devoid of confidence, “this year will be different, okay? Look, Shitty’s going stag because he’s weak –”

“Hey!”

“—and you can’t go stag because you are just too awesome a catch –”

“Fuck you, Holster, I’m going to _law school_!”

“—and it’s unacceptable for you to be dateless,” Holster finishes up before magnanimously lifting his middle finger in salute to Shitty who is lying on the couch with a textbook draped over his chest. “So you’re going and it’s going to be ‘sawesome.”

Eric smiles and tries very hard to look sincere before wiggling away and taking over the kitchen to stress-bake a batch of mini-cupcakes. The thing is, he knows Holster is trying to be nice. He appreciates how supportive everyone has been and how game they’ve been for finding him dates – he never appreciates going to a hugely LGBT friendly school more than as he does around Screw time – but. He doesn’t exactly know how to broach the topic of, _Hey so I’m not exactly used to being out and this whole date thing kind of freaks me out_ or _Look my mom and dad don’t actually know about this so could we keep it secret, keep it safe?_ or _Hey I might have a crush on Jack so I’m probably going to be an asshole to this totally nice guy you’ve found for me._ Bitty slams the container of sugar down onto the counter a little harder than necessary and begins measuring out his ingredients. 

Jack thuds past while Eric is icing the cupcakes, and sticks his head in, looking confused. “Cupcakes?” he asks. “That’s not your usual.”

“Well, I felt like changing it up today,” Eric says. 

“They’re pie-like in some way, aren’t they,” Jack says. 

Eric smiles and says, “There’s an apple pie filling in them.”

Jack snorts, but Eric is pretty sure he smiles, too.

 

When Eric is feeling sorry for himself, he makes up silly fantasies in his head. Like the one where he and Lardo go as friends and somehow everything magically resolves and Shitty gets the girl and Eric gets the boy. Or where Eric goes stag, but in disguise like he’s in a Cinderella movie, and he dances with Jack and Jack is so overwhelmed that he asks Eric out right there. Or where he stays at the Haus and Jack stays back with him. 

All of them are stupid. Eric knows that. He just – he thought it would be easier at Samwell. No need to hide, plenty of other boys who are theoretically interested and available. He thought for sure he would be able to figure it out and at least get a little more than some kisses that were more sloppy than sweet. Then again, he hadn’t really factored in the possibility of falling for someone out of reach. 

The night of Winter Screw, Eric spends an hour getting ready because there’s no sense in not looking his best. He showers, combs his hair, irons his shirt one last time, gets dressed while trying not to look at the mirror. When he figure skated he would never look at his reflection while he was changing. A dumb superstition, probably, but it’s a hard habit to break. 

Shitty wolf-whistles when Eric comes downstairs, adjusting his tie and saying, “Well, color _me_ impressed.” The other guys are nodding, grinning. Eric smiles and thanks them and, despite himself, glances at Jack. 

Jack isn’t even looking at him. Of course. 

“Well,” Eric says, putting on a smile, “shall we?”

They meet their dates at the dance in a confused flurry of introductions and hugs and, in some cases (mostly Ransom and Holster), kisses hello. Holster drags Eric’s date over, introduces him as Andrew Edward Julian Bleakly IV, and leaves Eric staring up what feels like two feet of height difference at the admittedly very handsome dark-haired boy. 

“Hi,” Eric says, going into Southern hospitality mode. “You look just fantastic.”

Andrew Edward Julian Bleakly IV smiles and, in a mouth-watering accent, says, “Thank you, and so do you.”

Screw is, like the previous year, loud and full of people who are already drunk. Eric, having pregamed at the Haus with the rest of the team, is already feeling pretty good. Good enough not to resent Melanie Cartwright, who honestly seems like a totally cool girl, for going with Jack for the second year in a row. She and Jack are laughing about something, Eric notices, and then he forces himself to pay attention to Andrew talking about his family. 

The frustrating thing is that under any other circumstances, Eric would think Andrew was just the sweetest. He’s charming and attentive and actually believes Eric when he says he plays with the hockey team and doesn’t just tag along with them. He’s also, Eric discovers, a good kisser. 

“Hey, you’re doing good!” Holster says to Eric when they’re both taking a break to grab some water. Athletes understand the importance of hydration. “Don’t think I didn’t see those smooches.”

“Gosh, Holster,” Eric says. He’s glad he’s already flushed from the heat so he can’t blush worse. “Don’t you have your own date to pay attention to?”

“I’m just so dang _happy_ for you!” Holster grabs him around the neck and noogies him. “Ransom is too, he just keeps it inside like the tough defenseman he is.”

“That’s great,” Eric says, wriggling out of Holster’s grasp. “I should go back to my date.”

Except as he’s making his way back to where he left Andrew, he’s waylaid by Jack, who is definitely tipsy and grinning. The last time Eric saw Jack like this was Hazeapalooza, drunk and giddy and even more teasing than usual. Eric is not prepared to deal with that today, not now. 

“Bitty!” Jack says, using his nickname for once. He slings his arm around Eric’s waist and pulls him in close. “We should dance, don’t you think? That’s a thing people do at dances, right?”

“Jack –”

“Do you remember Halloween?” Jack asks, pushing Eric’s hair away from his face. His fingers brush Eric’s forehead, warm and dry. “I never told you that I thought your costume was really great. _Really_ great.”

“Did you eat one of Shitty’s brownies?” Eric asks suspiciously. “You _know_ better than that.”

Jack smiles, but he doesn’t let Eric go. His fingers are moving restlessly against Bitty’s side, enough that Eric can feel it through his clothes. “You used to skate. Can you dance?”

“I’ll have you know I did ballet for two years to improve my flexibility –” Jack is pulling Eric close enough that his knee is edging between Eric’s thighs. “Jack, I have to get back to my date.”

Jack releases him suddenly and steps back. “Yeah,” he says. “You do.”

Eric watches as Jack turns and disappears into the dance floor, presumably to go back to his date. Eric feels cold where Jack had been touching him, and he drops back to tell Andrew he’s going to the bathroom before he flees out into the cold. 

He’s been out there on his phone for about five minutes when Shitty appears, almost as if by magic, at his side. Shitty is carrying Eric’s coat and has his flask in hand, which Eric feels in desperate need of at this point. Shitty passes both to him without saying a word, and they stand outside in companionable miserable silence until, eventually, the rest of the team filters out to join them. Jack has his arm around Melanie’s shoulder, and he doesn’t look at Bitty when they leave together. 

 

Eric doesn’t call Andrew back, and needless to say, Andrew does not call him. Shitty asks Eric if Andrew was a jerk and if he needs to whoop some ass, to which Eric says no, he definitely does not. Eric tries not to overhear Ransom demanding details from Jack about his date with Melanie, and he ends up hanging out in Lardo’s room while she works on her art final just to avoid everyone else. She paints his nose blue once when he falls asleep, but she doesn’t seem to mind him being there. 

Finals are a nightmare of studying and stress, and then Eric is packing to go home, staying up late to do so. The night before his flight back to Georgia, he’s packing up his skates and pads when there’s a knock at his door. He opens it up and there’s Jack, wearing his puffy red Team Canada coat and a dark scarf. They haven’t talked much since Screw thanks to finals (and maybe Eric has been avoiding him), but Jack says, “Hey, it’s snowing,” and Eric says, “I’ll get my coat.”

They walk out together, not speaking. It’s snowing more heavily than on Thanksgiving, and Eric turns his face up to it, letting the flakes melt on his cheeks. A snowball hits him in the shoulder a moment later, and he turns to glare at Jack, who’s grinning hugely. 

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann,” Eric starts, and then another one hits him in the chest. “Oh, _no_ you didn’t.”

They devolve into pelting snowballs at each other until they run out of readily available powder on the ground, and they’re both panting with exertion and laughter. Eric, for lack of anything else to do, pushes Jack in the chest to try to throw him off balance. Jack catches his wrists and, still laughing, says, “I thought you were gonna help me with that food final, by the way.”

“Sorry,” Eric says. “I was busy with, um, everything else. I’m sure you did fine on your own.”

“I could have used you,” Jack says. He still hasn’t let go of Eric’s wrists. 

“Jack,” Eric says, “thanks for – well, I should go back to packing.”

“Oh, right.” Jack releases him. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, to the warm embrace of Georgia,” Eric says, sighing happily. “I’m so sorry you’re just going back to boring, cold Montreal –"

Jack is standing so close that Eric can feel the heat of his breath. Jack is cupping Eric’s jaw. Jack is – Jack is leaning down to kiss him, and Eric is pushing up onto his toes to meet him halfway, gloved hands useless against the slick material of Jack’s coat. Jack is kissing him so thoroughly that Eric’s toes are curling in his boots and his stomach is jumping like they’re at the opening faceoff, and he has only ever been this close to Jack when Jack is drilling him against the boards in their checking practice. 

Jack pulls back, leaves one last kiss on the corner of Eric’s mouth, and says, “Go pack, Bitty,” as if nothing just happened, and Eric, mute from shock, stumbles back, up the steps of the Haus and then running up the stairs to his room and closing the door. He looks around his room, at his web camera and the open suitcase and the photo of him with his parents on his desk and thinks, _Jack Zimmermann just kissed me_. When he takes off his gloves, his fingers are shaking, and not from the cold.


End file.
